The sky was a sad, dull gray. Its overcast frown seemed to sap the life and energy and color out of everything it touched. The world around me was solemn and subdued. “Melancholy” would be a good word for it. A cold, wet wind was blowing steadily from the South, moaning a slow, mournful tune. Raindrops were pelting loudly against the corrugated tin of our pig pen.
All things considered, it was a pretty miserable day to be outside.
But there I was, standing dejectedly in the rain, and wishing deeply that I wasn’t.
I always get that way on butchering day though. As much as I enjoy cutting meat (and all the delicious meals that follow), I always hate the first part; the part when you actually have to put the animal(s) down — and our pigs were no different. Continue reading “Makin’ Bacon!”